


Liquid Courage and Other Potent Magic

by indiefic



Series: Potent Magics: Storybrooke [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Love/Hate, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Regina didn’t lock Belle away after the Dark Curse was cast?  What if she sent Belle to Storybrook along with everyone else - and gave her the memory of hating Mr. Gold?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquid Courage and Other Potent Magic

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNINGS:** Spoilers for all Season 1 and Ep. 4 of Season 2  
>  **TIMELINE:** set during season 1, timeline vague. Total AU.  
>  **NOTES:** This is the first in my Potent Magics: Storybrooke universe. There will be additional stories set here, but they will skip around in time, some earlier than this, some later.

Isabelle “Izzy” French isn’t just a little tipsy. She’s drunk. Stinking drunk. Thanks to Ruby’s generosity (and the liquor stash at Granny’s), at least Izzy isn’t completely short on cash at the moment. Not that the amount of cash in her pocket could make a dent in the debt she currently owes. Izzy isn’t sure if Ruby knows exactly what is going on, but she hopes not. Izzy is pretty sure she would curl up and die from shame if anyone found out about this.

She stumbles through the pawnshop door completely lacking grace, not that she cares. She has no interest in impressing him. He looks up from whatever it is he’s doing behind the counter and smiles that smug fucking smile of his.

“Ah, Miss French,” he says, his voice ever smooth and tinged with malice. “I’ve been expecting you for a while now.” He looks at his watch. “Technically your father has been in default since three o’clock this afternoon.”

“Sorry I’m late,” she says with bitter sarcasm. “I had to stop off at the hardware store and blow Max to pay for a rotary sander. Hope you don’t mind going second.”

His lips purse together in displeasure, but he says nothing. Not that Gold has ever said anything to the effect, but Izzy knows he would not take kindly to her extending this bartering system outside of their agreement. As if she would ever consider it herself. Despite what it must look like, she is not a whore. God, she hates him. Point of fact, Izzy can’t remember ever hating anyone as much as she hates Mr. Gold - as much as she has _always_ hated Mr. Gold. 

Gold has had her father under his thumb as long as she can remember. It doesn’t seem to matter what they do, how good a season they have, they can never manage to get ahead of their debts. She comes to him on nights like this to clear the balance, but inevitably it creeps back up until she finds herself once again on his doorstep.

“You know,” he says pointedly, “you could just stop taking care of dear ol’ dad. No one is forcing you to do this, dearie. These aren’t your debts.”

He’s right of course, which makes the situation burn twice as badly. However much she hates him, she chose this of her own free will. She chose to pay Mo’s endless string of debts with her body. She can be as angry as she wants at Gold and at her father, but she has no one to blame but herself.

“Fuck you,” she says, shrugging out of her jacket as she strides across the shop toward the workroom, not waiting for him. 

“That is the general idea,” she hears him say under his breath.

The workroom is dark, but she walks to his workbench, tossing her jacket on top as she pulls her shirt over her head in one smooth motion. In the shop, she can hear him throw the lock on the door and then his distinctive gait as he walks to the workroom.

The alcohol makes everything fuzzy. She knows she’s cold, but she doesn’t really feel it, standing there in just her bra, a plaid skirt and a pair of stilettos. She didn’t dress up for him. It’s just that in these clothes, she feels more in control, or maybe more like she’s playing the part. And with the alcohol, she can almost forget what she knows - that she hates him. The alcohol gives her a buffer to ignore those emotions and thoughts and just feel. Because no matter how much she hates Gold, he always feels so damn good.

He stops behind her, just standing there for a long moment. She watches as he hooks his cane on the edge of the workbench. She can feel his hand hovering over her shoulder without making contact and her nerve endings tingle with anticipation. He finally places his hand on her shoulder and the heat of him is shocking, inviting Without meaning to, she curls back into his warmth. His lips find the back of her neck and she shivers as he wraps his arms around her waist, holding her close.

This whole thing is completely sordid. Izzy fucks Gold, a man her father’s age, in order to pay off her father’s debts, lest Gold do something truly heinous. Mo is the only family Izzy has in the world. Even when she and Mo don’t get along - which is often - Izzy knows she couldn’t live with herself if something happened to him. So behind Mo’s back, she made a deal with Gold. Her body in exchange for clearing Mo’s debts. 

It was a desperate night years ago that drove Izzy to Gold. Mo was in default yet again. It was Valentine’s Day and Gold’s thug, Dove, had already repossessed the truck and their entire stock of roses. Valentine’s Day is their biggest day of the year. Without that truck and their stock, they would be in debt not only to Gold, but to every other creditor in town. It took every bit of courage and half a bottle of rum for Izzy to work up the courage to suggest the deal to Gold - her body in exchange for the truck, the stock and forgiveness of their debts. 

She expected Gold to laugh her out of his shop. She expected him to be cruel. She expected him to tell her she thought too highly of herself. At the very least, she expected him to call her a whore and make her feel small. 

But he didn’t do any of those things. He merely nodded and told her they had a deal. 

And so this has become routine - her hate-fucking Gold in the back room of his shop or his car or a few times at his house.

He nips along the back of her neck, across her shoulders. He bites gently and she shivers. She hates him, she does. But she cannot deny that this man knows how to get her wet. One of his hands cups her breast through her bra and the other hand skims her skirt up her legs, rubbing her through her panties. She groans, pushing back against him and she can feel the hard length of him tenting the front of his designer trousers. He continues to kiss and bite and knead and rub. His fingers slip under her panties and her rubs her clit until she hisses through her teeth. 

“Please,” she whimpers.

He turns her around and she goes willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck as his lips find hers. Her lips immediately part for him and she moans as his tongue tangles with hers. He should not be this good of a kisser. It’s not fair. If there is any justice in the world, a vicious, vindictive, mercenary bastard like Gold should be crap in the sack. But he’s not - not by a long shot. Or at the very least he should turn her off so much that he can’t make her come. But that’s patently untrue as well.

Galen, Izzy’s boyfriend, doesn’t know about this - he can never know about this. Galen means well. He’s a good man, an honest, simple man and he deserves better than a girlfriend who would resort to trading herself to settle a debt. In fact, Galen probably has the money to clear Mo’s debts himself. But Izzy will never ask for his help. And she will never explore why she won’t ask for his help. Or why Galen never makes her come.

Her fingers thread through Gold’s hair, urging him closer even as his hands find her panties and skim them down her legs until she can kick them away. He grabs her hips, lifting her and setting her on the edge of the workbench. She immediately wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him in closer.

He finds the clasp on her bra and releases it, tossing the garment away as his hands cup her breasts. “My darling Belle,” he whispers reverently and she ignores the way tears prick her eyes when he calls her that. Blindly, she reaches for his tie, making quick work of it and his shirt. Together they undo his belt and she eagerly releases the zipper and cups his erection through the silk of his boxer shorts.

He groans as she strokes him, and she doesn’t tease. She skims the trousers and boxers down his hips and then circles her fingers around his cock, stroking firmly, the way he likes. His fingers bite into her hips and he pants harshly. She kisses him deeply and urges him closer. He takes the hint, using his ever talented fingers to guide his cock to her entrance. She arches her back, tilting her hips and he slides easily inside her. Like he belongs there.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she curses, eyes falling shut at the bliss of the sensation. He stills, peppering her jaw with kisses. She wraps her arms around him, pulling him closer, shivering at the sensation of his naked skin pressed to hers. He smells so good, feels so good and in this moment she can finally admit to herself, that she has ached for him. That she has been anticipating this moment for weeks.

She captures his earlobe between her teeth and worries it gently. “Please,” she whispers.

He takes a deep, shaky breath and then starts a steady rhythm of shallow thrusts. His thumb searches out her clit and her rubs her in time with his thrusts. It takes almost no coaxing and she is shivering as she comes, her head falling back, her mouth open in a soundless cry.

She feels him chuckle before he bites down gently on her neck. “Needed that, did you, love?”

“Bastard,” she replies, but there isn’t much bite to it considering his cock is still buried in her pussy. Still, she doesn’t like it when he’s so smug. She kisses him, deep demanding kisses and her hands find his hips, urging him harder, faster.

His smugness falls away, replaced by single minded intent as his hips slap against hers. She breaks off the kiss, watching his face. He looks pained, though she knows he’s not. She leans forward, her tongue tracing along his ear. “Yes,” she whispers wickedly. “Yes, fuck me. You feel _so good_.”

He groans, helpless and thrusts deeper, causing her breath to catch in her throat. His hand finds her breasts, pinching her nipple hard and to her own surprise, she comes again. Arching against him, pleasure peaking almost to the point of pain.

She is still shivering with release when he lets himself go, his thrusts becoming erratic before he finally groans, thrusting against her one last time. They slump against each other, both panting for breath. Idly, she toys with the hair at the nape of his neck and he presses kisses to her collarbone. 

It seems like he should toss her aside the second he gets off, but he never does. He always holds her, caresses her like she is something precious and fragile. And for reasons she can never explain, she lets him. She clutches him close, desperately trying to hold on to that moment of intimacy even as it slips through her fingers. 

He finally steps back, withdrawing from her and she aches with an emptiness that has nothing to do with the sex. It must be plain on her features because without a word, he steps closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

She doesn’t return the kiss, she can’t and she plants a hand in the center of his chest and pushes him back. He lets her go, fumbling with his own clothes and she does the same. She pulls her shirt over her head and does her best to smooth down her skirt. She has no idea where her bra and panties are, but she abandons them as lost. She can’t stay here another moment. She has to get away, to get some space. She wants to go home and cry until she pukes. Because it shouldn’t feel like her heart is breaking when she fucks a man she hates.

She heads for the door fully aware that she must look terrible. Her hair is in disarray, no doubt there are hickeys on her neck and she can feel their combined fluids on her thighs.

“Let me drive you home,” he says quietly.

She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak and opens the back door, closing it firmly behind herself. She only makes it five steps into the alley before she starts to cry.

***  
END STORY


End file.
